The hall was silent.
The Twilight survivors stared at the dark hole through which the Masked Man had descended.
Their breaths were shallow. Their eyes unfocused. Their world had cracked.
Sylen—Their captain. Their pillar. Their pride—was gone.
Gone in a single moment.
His severed head now rested in the trembling hands of the one who had followed him the longest.
Elya.
Her tears had already stained her cheeks, streaks of red mingling in the streams.
Her eyes were swollen, fever-bright, burning with hatred, grief, and something even darker.
The others were numb.
But she was breaking.
She clutched Sylen's head to her chest, as if holding it tight enough could rewrite fate.
Her voice was silent.
Her pain was not.
....
Meanwhile — Deep Below
Evan dropped in silence.
Vines and roots curled along the walls of the endless descent, swallowing sound, swallowing light.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Only the sound of wind rushing past him as he fell.
"We are already a kilometer deep," Arven murmured inside his mind.
"The core is hidden under the earth itself. Cowardly… but effective."
Evan dragged his fingers along the passing vines, slowing his fall just enough to avoid pulverising his legs when he reached the bottom.
His voice was cold.
"He hid because he feared death. And yet he acted like a lord."
Arven chuckled faintly.
"You seem unusually irritated."
Evan didn't deny it.
"Maybe he reminds me of someone. Maybe I killed him before. Maybe he died begging then, too."
His tone was flat. Empty.
Not emotional — remembering.
The kind of remembering that comes from a life no one else in this world remembers.
Arven fell silent. He understood.
A faint tremor moved through the air.
"Kid. He's close."
Evan gripped the vines and slowed himself, then landed in a dim hallway lit by faintly glowing stones.
Thick roots twisted along the floor, walls, and ceiling like the inside of a living creature.
He walked toward the deeper end.
He moved like someone who knew the inevitable outcome.
After several minutes, he entered a vast chamber, shaped like a natural dome, walls wrapped in vines.
A small pool filled the center, and above it rested a stone altar — and on it, the core, glowing soft blue like a captured moon.
And above the core, flickering faintly — the spirit of Peyndral, in a much human-like form.
"So, you found it," the Lord said.
His voice was low, uncertain.
Evan stared at him. Without expression. Without greeting.
"You're hiding underground. Speak less."
Peyndral tried to maintain composure.
"Why go to such lengths to kill me? I've done nothing to you."
Evan's eyelids lowered, just slightly.
"I remembered you."
A pause.
"From my Past life."
Peyndral laughed sharply, almost relieved.
"What a childish excuse."
Evan's eyes did not change.
"You were the Vice General of the Beast King's assault. Lord Dark Spirit — Peyndral. You commanded the siege that burned thirty-seven cities. You ordered cities to be used as breeding grounds."
Peyndral froze.
"What are you talking abou—"
Evan stepped forward.
"I remember the screams."
The air shifted.
The vines behind Evan moved.
He didn't look.
Bone spears erupted from the ground behind him, shredding them.
Peyndral flinched.
That was when his eyes shook.
Because he understood something:
This man did not see him as an enemy.
He saw him as unfinished work.
"I can offer you protection, treasures," Peyndral said quickly. Desperate now. "I serve a Beast King. If you spare me, you—"
Evan stopped walking.
The air chilled.
"You think I fear your king?"
Peyndral opened his mouth—but Evan wasn't done.
"You think I fear anyone?"
There was no arrogance in his tone.
Only truth.
Peyndral tried to speak again—only to feel something press down across the chamber.
A presence.
Not the aura of a Tier.
Not a skill.
Not mana.
A natural pressure like gravity.
The kind that only comes from beings who have stood above armies, above kings, above nations—
Even if the world had forgotten it.
Peyndral gasped.
"L-Lord's Aura…?"
"No," Arven whispered quietly to himself, almost in a little surprise.
"This is something else; he is growing very quickly."
This was the aura of a Monarch.
Even in a sealed state.
Even in a lesser form.
The instinct of one who commands death itself.
Evan stepped forward.
"I told you," he said quietly, voice like a blade sliding into the throat,
"I do not regret.
I do not fear.
And I do not forgive."
The chamber shook.
Flames curled around his form like serpents, coiling with purpose.
"I will tear you apart.
Not because of hatred."
His eyes sharpened.
"But because your existence is a debt."
Peyndral trembled.
The vines around the chamber writhed.
The air twisted.
And for the first time—
The Lord looked afraid.
"What are you even rambling about? Dark spirit? I am a nature spirit."
Peyndral's voice echoed from the core like someone felt offended.
He looked at Evan like he was speaking nonsense.
"It doesn't matter," Evan said. "If killing you is what I need to save even a single life, then that's enough."
Peyndral's aura surged.
"You insolent ant. You think I fear you? I serve a King. A King who commands multiple Lords and commands the Beast Army. Someone like you wouldn't last a second before him."
Evan didn't blink.
"A king?"
His voice was calm.
"A mere king doesn't scare me. I don't fear anyone standing in the same sky as me. If I rise to his tier one day, I'll tear his head off too."
Peyndral stared for a second—then burst into laughter.
"You? A low human, no backing, no throne, no bloodline. You think Kings are weak? How ridiculous."
His aura rose sharply—he invoked it.
The Aura of a Lord.
The chamber trembled.
The water rippled.
Even the stone groaned under the pressure.
A Lord stands above countless soldiers.
Above Lords are Overlords.
Above Overlords are Kings.
Above Kings are Emperors.
And beyond the Emperors—exist those who only appear in history and are still present:
Monarchs.
Rulers of their race.
Absolute Sovereigns.
Even a thousand Kings can bow to a Monarch and die standing.
And right now—Evan was facing a Lord while still a Tier 0.
Peyndral saw Evan unmoving and chuckled.
"Dream of killing Kings… when you can't even withstand a Lord. Fool."
But his smile froze as a bone spike sliced through the air—passing right beside the core.
Peyndral panicked.
If that had hit the core, he would have died instantly.
He searched for the attacker—but there was no one else.
Only Evan.
"You—how can you even move under my Lord's Aura?" Peyndral's voice shook.
Evan stepped forward.
"Peyndral… you are a Lord. I do not fear you. Nor your King."
His presence darkened the room.
"Tell me—have you ever seen a predator fear prey?"
Peyndral's core trembled.
"Feel it.
The aura leaking from my body.
Do you understand now?"
Evan's shadow expanded behind him, revealing the silhouette of Death itself.
"I am your end.
I am your Reaper.
I am the Sovereign who governs Death."
His next words were a calm declaration:
"I am the Monarch of Death."
Silence.
Peyndral could feel it.
Neither imagined nor pretended.
Real.
A Monarch-level presence—even if dormant—was awakening inside Evan.
"No… no, no, no…" Peyndral's sanity frayed.
"A Monarch cannot appear in this low Expanse. That level of existence should be in the Sixth Expanse at least. You are not human. You cannot be. No human has ever held a Monarch's right!"
Evan sighed.
"A beast is still a beast. Even if you place a Lord's crown on its head."
Roots shot toward him, trying to crush him.
Peyndral screamed, "You cannot use your flames! If you do, we both die. You will collapse this place and perish with me!"
Evan's foot touched the water.
The temperature plunged.
The pond froze over instantly.
The walls frosted.
The vines turned solid and stiff like crystal.
Even Peyndral's core froze in place.
A single swing shattered the room's bindings.
Evan's sword shifted—returning to the thunder-coated greatsword from before.
Lightning crackled across his arms and blade.
He lowered his stance.
Peyndral tried to pull the core away—but Evan was already there.
"Fall into my domain of death."
His voice was quiet.
"Your King will follow you soon enough."
A streak of motion—A flash of thunder—A clean cut.
The vines supporting the core snapped.
Evan didn't damage the core—he needed it.
He gripped the core and tried to pull it loose.
The resistance was strong.
"Still stubborn, huh?"
Evan activated the skill,
The core's light dimmed.
Its power dissolved.
The resistance vanished.
He stored the core.
And just then—the System announcer echoed across the entire Expanse:
[Attention, Inhabitants of the Expanse: The Lord of the Beasts has been slain.]
[The next Lord candidate has perished.]
[The Lord Castle has fallen.]
[The Zeroth Expanse is now a Lordless Expanse.]
[May you advance and survive.]
Evan exhaled.
"Finally. Same as my past life… though last time it was Sylen who caused this, maybe."
He turned to leave.
The chamber began to collapse.
The ice cracked.
The ceiling shook.
He sprinted, escaping upward—until he felt something.
Something deeper.
Not danger.
Presence.
He walked toward the opposite corridor, freezing the collapsing hallway as he moved.
After several steps—he stopped.
And stared, looking at the thing which was not supposed to be here.
"What the hell… Why is something like this buried this deep underground?"
—
To be Continued
What did he see? Is it another terrifying new monster, or something even more mysterious?
Unravel the truth of what stands before Evan now, and dive into the heart-pounding adventure of "Evan Windstone"!
Add it to your library today for instant updates, and don't miss a single twist in this thrilling journey!